


maybe we could be enough

by altarrias



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Shotgunning, anyway this is NOT unrequited not really pining, idk what it is tho EDFJ, just some weed oops but if u wanna avoid that check tags !, n sent iwaizumi to uci !!!!! wow, remember when furudate was like lemme give aani some rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altarrias/pseuds/altarrias
Summary: iwaizumi hums in reply as the car goes silent, frank ocean crooning from the speakers. they stop at a red light when iwaizumi feels eyes at the side of his face, and turns to look at oikawa.“hmm?”oikawa stares at him just a beat longer. “nothing, iwa-chan,” he says finally, leaning back. “i missed you too.”oikawa’s hand lingers on the dashboard. iwaizumi grips the wheel tighter.this is going to be a long week.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 28
Kudos: 160





	maybe we could be enough

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! im back but this time w some iwaoi 😚 this is a lil more angsty n dramatic than usual but bear w me lol
> 
> most importantly: in one scene, the characters smoke weed and take it in other forms as well. it's mentioned casually in the scene beforehand, but the scene where they actually take it starts with:  
> "grace’s brownies are the best in irvine, and oikawa’s giggly and sleepy after one and a few bites of via’s.."  
> and ends after  
> "iwaizumi stares at the ceiling angrily for a minute, and then rolls over with a sigh." please keep that in mind and be kind to urself <3
> 
> that's all from me :) hope u enjoy!
> 
> \- aani 🥰
> 
> title from 'home' by one direction

iwaizumi would rather die than admit it, but he waited at the airport for two hours before oikawa’s flight landed. he can tell when the flight lands because of the immediate influx of passengers in baggage claim, and he gets on his tiptoes looking for a 6 foot tall idiot who’s probably trampling people in his rush.

iwaizumi’s phone rings and he picks it up. “are you here yet? are you here yet? i just landed,” oikawa says excitedly. iwaizumi finally spots him; a head of brown hair and stumbling into someone.

he turns around, like he can feel iwaizumi’s gaze on him. their eyes lock across the room. iwaizumi grins. 

the next thing he knows, he has 160 pounds of overly excited best friend in his arms. “iwa-chan!”

“hi, shittykawa,” iwaizumi says, much too fond.

oikawa ignores him, burying his face into iwaizumi’s shoulder. his nose is cold against the warm, sensitive skin of waizumi’s neck, but iwaizumi wishes they could somehow be closer. “hi, iwa-chan.” 

iwaizumi pulls back to look at him. he’s definitely worn out from the 12 hour flight, hair floppy and tousled, the skin under his eyes darker than usual but- but he’s grinning wide and genuine, and his eyes are bright, and iwaizumi feels himself melt, just a little.

“i missed you,” iwaizumi admits quietly.

the arms around his neck tighten, although oikawa responds with a smug “i knew that already.”

“shittykawa,” he says to humble him. oikawa sputters indignantly. 

“so mean,” oikawa whines, resting his head back onto iwaizumi’s shoulder. iwaizumi squeezes him around the waist tighter, absurdly happy he gets to hold oikawa like this again. 

as much as iwaizumi would like to stay like this, in the middle of baggage claim with people bustling around them is not the place to be having their sappy reunion. “we need to get your bags,” he says finally, untangling himself from oikawa, who refuses to let go. iwaizumi compromises and tangles their fingers together.

“you’ll carry my bags for me, right iwa-chan?” oikawa asks, batting his eyelashes. iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

“absolutely not. go back to buenos aires.” he takes oikawa’s suitcase from the moving platform, then hauls oikawa’s travel bag over his shoulder. “only one suitcase?”

“it’s only seven days,” oikawa replies, then grimaces at the reminder. their time together is limited, and it bitters the sweetness of the moment. 

iwaizumi shakes his head. “don’t think about it. let’s go to the car, yeah?”

oikawa grins. iwaizumi’s heart flutters. “such a gentleman,” he coos, squeezing iwaizumi’s hand. 

  
  


oikawa’s energy lasts until they sit in the car, where he immediately slumps against the window and closes his eyes. “hey, don’t go to sleep yet,” iwaizumi tells him gently. 

oikawa peeks open an eye at him. “i just got off a 12 hour flight,” he deadpans, but stretches his arms and sits up.

“we can take a nap at home.”

there’s a beat of quiet. he looks over in time to see oikawa mouth ‘home’ to himself before he replies, “why are you taking a nap with me? what time did you wake up?”

“...early.”

“why’d you wake up so early? i told you my flight landed at 2.” oikawa is already plugging his phone into the aux and scrolling through his playlist. 

“no reason,” he replies quickly. 

oikawa’s expression turns from confused and sleepy to smug. “aww, were you excited to see me?”

maybe it’s the sentiment of the moment, of seeing oikawa after months, but iwaizumi can’t stop himself from saying, “yeah.” the vague mortification is completely worth it in the face of oikawa’s genuine surprise, and then blatant fondness.

iwaizumi grins. “cat got ya tongue?”

“dickhead,” oikawa grumbles, red up to his ears. a song finally begins to play, one that iwaizumi had sent him a while back.

iwaizumi hums in reply as the car goes silent, frank ocean crooning from the speakers. they stop at a red light when iwaizumi feels eyes at the side of his face, and turns to look at oikawa.

“hmm?”

oikawa stares at him just a beat longer. “nothing, iwa-chan,” he says finally, leaning back. “i missed you too.”

his fingers twitch on the wheel. oikawa’s hand lingers on the dashboard. iwaizumi grips the wheel tighter.

this is going to be a long week.

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  


oikawa is still jet-lagged the next day, and sleeps much longer than iwaizumi. it hadn’t been a question when oikawa had immediately flopped onto his bed and looked up at him expectantly; it was a given. iwaizumi had woken up with oikawa’s face pressed against his collarbone and hoped to god he was asleep when he kissed his temple good morning.

jun, his suitemate, is packing his lunch in the kitchen when iwaizumi walks in. “morning, hajime. someone’s in a good mood,” jun laughs. 

iwaizumi grunts at him. jun, who’s now exceptional at ignoring iwaizumi’s less than great social skills before 10 am, continues, “i wonder why. it’s not like your boyfriend flew in yesterday or anything.”

iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “not my boyfriend.” for as complicated and intense as his and oikawa’s relationship could be, that’s one line they haven’t crossed. _yet,_ his mind adds, thinking of oikawa’s cheek against his in the middle of baggage claim. 

“sure,” he replies flippantly. “are you two doing anything today?”

“i was thinking of eating out, maybe going to the beach,” iwaizumi says, sips his coffee in thought, then adds, “if he’s up for it. he seemed really tired this morning.”

jun squints at him. “how would you know that?”

before iwaizumi can think of a good reply, the door to his bedroom is opening, and a sleepy, hazy-eyed oikawa is walking through. “iwa-chan?” he mumbles.

“good morning,” he greets, and tips his head towards jun, whose smirk is growing tenfold. 

“don’t you have class in ten minutes?” iwaizumi interrupts. oikawa just giggles and drapes himself over iwaizumi’s back, a warm and comforting weight that he leans back into, shivering when he feels lips near his neck.

“oh shit, i do.” jun pulls on his sneakers and waves good-naturedly at oikawa. “really good to see you again, bro! we’ll have lunch later, or something?”

“good to see you too,” oikawa says, smiling prettily. iwaizumi wonders how jun isn’t weak at his knees when faced with a sleepy, smiley oikawa. maybe that’s just a him thing.

jun takes his leave, leaving them both in the kitchen. oikawa sighs and tucks his face more comfortably into iwaizumi’s neck, breath warm against his skin. 

“how did you sleep?” iwaizumi asks, mostly to hear his voice. 

oikawa hums. “pretty good.” he tucks his chin over iwaizumi’s shoulder, and iwaizumi obliges the unspoken request and gives him a sip of coffee. oikawa cringes. “iwa-chan, so bitter,” he whines, rubbing his face against the nape of his neck. “just like you.”

“that doesn’t make any sense.”

“just like you!”

iwaizumi steps on his foot for that. when oikawa’s done sputtering, he asks, “are you down to eat out today?”

oikawa hums. “is this a date?” he asks, voice sweet and teasing. 

“you’re the last person i’d go on a date with,” he grumbles, and they both know it for the lie it is. oikawa whines, moving away from him.

“go get ready. we’ll leave in an hour.”

  
  
  
  


they do not, in fact, leave in an hour, through no fault of iwaizumi’s; oikawa’s shower itself was about an hour, and he took just as long to change. by the time they arrive, it’s more of a brunch than a breakfast.

most of oikawa’s english is clinical and textbook, but his spanish is practically fluent now, and he can get away with speaking in spanish to others for a good part of the day. between iwaizumi’s english and his spanish, they order without a hitch.

“your spanish is way better than mine,” iwaizumi comments, sipping at oikawa’s caramel latte. it’s way too sweet for his tastes, but it’s definitely the kind of thing oikawa would like.

“well, yeah. i’m surprised you even remember any spanish,” oikawa says, taking back his drink. “though i understand why you took it. everyone around here knows spanish.”

iwaizumi taking spanish had more to do with half of his heart being in buenos aires than california’s spanish speaking population, but iwaizumi embarrassed himself enough yesterday, so he doesn’t correct oikawa. the half of his heart in question is looking around the restaurant in mild interest.

“cute place,” oikawa takes note, then grins at iwaizumi. “is this where you take your dates, iwa-chan?”

“what dates,” iwaizumi deadpans.

“grace,” oikawa replies.

iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “i know it’s hard, but try to use your brain here. i’m gay, she’s a girl.”

”she liked you, though,” oikawa says, sipping at his drink pointedly.

”not anymore. plus, aren’t you friends with her now?” 

“we just play animal crossing together and talk a lot.”

”isn’t that what friends do?” iwaizumi asks tiredly, then abruptly clams up. right. that’s what friends do. friends don’t share beds or get jealous over pretty girls in their organic chemistry lectures.

oikawa catches it too, if the way he breaks eye contact says anything. “yeah, that’s what friends do.”

  
  
  
  
  


they don’t go swimming at the beach, although iwaizumi regrets not bringing their swim clothes. oikawa in the water is always a sight to behold. regardless, they have fun anyway, stuffing sand down each other’s shirts and attempting to push each other into the water.

they stop at a mcdonald’s for a snack. oikawa whines about his diet for all of two minutes before digging in right along with iwaizumi. he feeds iwaizumi fries as they drive down the highway to iwaizumi’s dorm.

“today was a lot of fun,” oikawa says happily, freshly brushed and cleaned. he flops onto iwaizumi’s bed like it’s his. strutting into places he doesn’t belong and making a home there is one of oikawa tooru’s many talents - not that he doesn’t belong here. wherever iwaizumi is, there’s space for oikawa, be it in his room across the street or his bed on a different continent.

“i’m glad,” iwaizumi replies, closing the bathroom door behind him. he shuffled into the sheets next to oikawa, their feeling tangling together naturally.

“shittykawa, get your freezing feet away from me,” iwaizumi hisses, not doing anything about it.

oikawa pouts. it’s even cuter up close. “but they’re cold, iwa-chan.”

“you’re always cold,” he says flippantly. “it’s because you’re tall. it’s like your blood can’t flow through your entire body, or something.”

“or something?” oikawa snorts. “aren’t you literally studying medicine?”

“yeah, but i’m not majoring in tall, pretty idiots with cold feet,” he retorts. he moves to turn off the light when he feels oikawa still next to him. 

“you think i’m pretty, iwa-chan?”

iwaizumi turns back to him, heart suddenly beating quick. he hadn’t thought about it when saying it, but… 

“don’t be stupid.” oikawa blinks. “you know i do.”

this admission feels a bit like he’s putting a card out on the table. maybe it’s the intimacy of sleeping next to him, or the sentimentality of seeing him after so long, but it feels right in the moment.

he’s just switched the lamp off when oikawa pulls him back down, arms crossed on iwaizumi’s chest and chin on his arms. “what,” iwaizumi says flatly, arms circling around his back and trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

“i think you’re pretty too, iwa-chan,” he says quietly, doe eyes practically sparkling in the faint moonlight.

“idiot,” iwaizumi coughs. “i already knew that.”

“i know.” he turns his head to rest it comfortably on iwaizumi’s chest. “just a reminder.”

iwaizumi rests his hand on the nape of his neck. “okay,” he murmurs, twisting his fingers in his curls. he wonders if oikawa’s just not mentioning his hummingbird heartbeat, or maybe his heart’s just stopped beating altogether. not a bad way to die, he muses; in bed with his one and only, bodies pressed completely together. “goodnight, tooru.”

oikawa rubs his face against iwaizumi’s chest. “goodnight, iwa-chan.”

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


oikawa left the day after iwaizumi realized he was incorrigibly, horribly, deeply in love with him. he’d wanted to kiss oikawa, that day; he’d wanted to kiss him everyday since then. since before then, maybe. suddenly, iwaizumi was left with a hell of a lot of thoughts about oikawa, and no actual oikawa, which was a confusing switch-up from the past 18 years of his life. 

oikawa had pressed his face into iwaizumi’s chest and mumbled, “you’ll stay with me, right?” and iwaizumi couldn’t reply, choking on the sudden realization of a love that was too big for his body. the answer was yes, yes, yes, of course _._ iwaizumi’s love language has been to be _needed_ ever since oikawa’s has been to _need_ , and if oikawa needed him to stay, iwaizumi wouldn’t move an inch.

but iwaizumi knows that one day - oikawa will fly to places iwaizumi can’t reach, and he won’t need iwaizumi to help him. oikawa needed him before, too - when the nationals stage was two victories away from them - and iwaizumi had silently promised to do everything in his power to take this boy to the nationals, had silently promised the world to him. 

in the end, he couldn’t give it to him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


oikawa’s still a little tired the next morning, so iwaizumi lets him sleep. he needs to catch up on some reading anyway, so he turns on his desk lamp and pulls out his books while oikawa curls up against his pillow nearby.

it’s a relatively productive morning. oikawa wakes up about two hours in, but is quiet enough that iwaizumi finishes a grand total of six assignments. he’s just calling it quits when there’s a knock at his door. 

“come in,” he says, glancing at oikawa, who’s gotten up and is making his way to iwaizumi’s desk.

the door opens. a familiar girl pops her head through, smiling brightly. “hey, hajime!”

oikawa stiffens behind him. “hey, via,” iwaizumi greets, smiling back at her. just as he’s about to continue, oikawa drops straight into his lap.

“who’s this pretty girl?” oikawa asks sweetly, wrapping an arm around his neck. there’s suddenly so much contact, their cheeks pressed together, arms around his neck, oikawa _literally in his lap._

oikawa still has his eyes narrowed at her, like he’s -

oh, iwaizumi thinks, smug satisfaction feeling like butterflies in his stomach. this is oikawa when he’s _jealous._

“via, this is tooru. tooru, this is olivia,” iwaizumi introduces. he squeezes oikawa’s waist until oikawa looks at him and adds, “javier’s twin sister. she’s dating grace, remember?”

iwaizumi can feel the way oikawa relaxes in his arms. it’s not like oikawa has a claim on him - well, he kind of does - does he? oh god - but it still lights a spark at the pit of his stomach, knowing oikawa was _jealous._

“oh. well, nice to meet you,” oikawa greets, much more kindly than before. he makes a show of looking her up and down, and then cooing, “javier’s pretty cute, but you got the better end of the genes.”

via laughs lightly. “so you’re the boyfriend, right?” she asks.

iwaizumi tenses. they share a glance that feels a lot longer than the two seconds it really is.

“yup,” oikawa answers cheerfully. 

“javier’s description of you was ‘tall, pretty, and flirty’,” she laughs, “and he was right.” she asks iwaizumi, “do you know where his bag is? he asked me to pick it up for him.”

“uhhh, i think i saw it by the dining table?” 

she nods. “alright, thanks. it was nice to see you both!”

“back at you,” iwaizumi says, and she smiles and closes the door behind her.

it’s just them two, now. the bed is still unmade, the windows still half-open, but the atmosphere feels abruptly different than it was before. 

is he oikawa’s? is oikawa his? iwaizumi’s first instinct is to say _yes._ it’s probably oikawa’s answer, too. they’ve never acknowledged this - this certain uncertainty, the being each other’s without ever saying it.

there’s just so much to say, so many words in iwaizumi’s throat he can barely breathe through the weight of them. oikawa sighs and rests his head on iwaizumi’s shoulder. iwaizumi squeezes him closer. they don’t say anything.

  
  
  
  
  


iwaizumi goes down the list as they rent the bikes; name: tooru oikawa, age: 20, birth date: july 20, 1994. he knows these like the back of his own hand, and it settles some of the discomfort that had been toiling in his stomach.

“here you two are,” chirps the nice old lady giving them the bikes. she visibly flusters when oikawa smiles at her.

“stop that,” he mutters, swatting at oikawa as they mount their bikes. 

oikawa hums, unbothered. “do you have any song requests?”

“oh, that one-“

“frank ocean song?” they finish together. oikawa grins.

iwaizumi can't help the (probably lovesick) smile that dimples his cheeks. “since when do you listen to him?”

“since you sent that song to me,” oikawa replies, like that isn’t an indirect confession in and of itself. iwaizumi nods like it doesn’t mean anything more. they’re so bad at this.

they take off, oikawa riding along to his left. it’s hard to hear each other’s voices, so they settle for wordlessly listening to channel orange as the sun begins making its descent.

they bike past the mcdonald’s they’d stopped by on the first day, and the kaiser permanente iwaizumi volunteers at with all the older nurses who’d met oikawa once and still coo to iwaizumi _how’s that boy of yours doing? the pretty one who brought us cookies, remember?_ and the younger ones who still whisper about him in jealousy. oikawa’d flown in a day earlier than he was supposed to, and drove down to the hospital with jun and a box of cookies and everyone loved him immediately. leave it to oikawa to somehow micromanage iwaizumi’s workplace relationships even while living in argentina.

“tooru, stop here,” he calls, when they pass by a less crowded part of the beach. they kick down their bikes and oikawa follows him down towards the water.

music is still playing from oikawa’s phone, just barely audible above the waves. iwaizumi hadn’t really been planning on stopping at the beach yet again, but the sunset looks gorgeous. the sky bleeds orange and pink behind oikawa.

“iwa-chan?” oikawa murmurs, stepping closer. iwaizumi tilts his head the slightest bit up to appraise him, 182.8 centimeters of iwaizumi’s dream come true. he’s windswept from the bike ride, golden from the sun. 

this is the perfect moment, he thinks. he imagines it so vividly: hooking a finger in the belt loop of his jeans, tugging him closer, lifting his chin, putting a final end to this suffocating tension.

“you have a…” iwaizumi croaks, brushing lint off of oikawa’s shoulder. he clears his throat. “i thought we could watch the sunset,” he offers, voice undeniably hoarse. oikawa’s expression wavers between frustration and bemusement, before settling on something sweet.

“sounds good,” oikawa answers, already settling down. he pulls his knees to his chest. “sit down with me.”

iwaizumi sits down, close enough that their elbows brush, but not enough to feel the pervasive need to pull him flush against himself. “it’s gorgeous,” he comments, breaking eye contact. oikawa hums, stretching his arms out behind him.

“you’ve been thinking all day,” oikawa says finally, glancing at him with poorly concealed concern.

he’s so sweet, but iwaizumi can't help it. “yeah, people with braincells tend to do that. not that you would know.”

oikawa throws sand at him and laughs as iwaizumi sputters. asshole. “real creative, iwa-chan,” he sing-songs laughingly. the heightened tension from earlier dissipates quickly under their laughter, and it’s a lot easier to breathe.

he looks over at oikawa’s smiling face, lit up by the sunlight. it’s still pretty hard to breathe, actually. his heart seizes with heat, and he’s sure there’s scorchmarks left on the skin of his ventricles. 

before oikawa can catch him, he looks back at the waves. not that it matters, since oikawa knows he looks at him. “it’s…” he frowns. we’re in love with each other but there’s no way we could actually do anything? no, too forward. oikawa’s face would probably be funny, though. “i’ll tell you later.”

“wh- there’s no one here!” oikawa sputters. “why do you need to tell me later?”

“maybe it’s something i want everyone to hear,” iwaizumi replies to mess with him. 

oikawa’s expression goes considering, and then flippant. “fine, you win this one iwa-chan.”

“you’re saying that like you win everything else.”

“well, yeah, i do.”

“absolutely do not.”

“yeah i _do-“_

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


in highschool, people used to take one look at their relationship and immediately whine about how lucky iwaizumi was to be friends with _the_ oikawa tooru, with the prettiest boy in school. in college, people took one look at their relationship and asked if this was really a healthy relationship, and maybe oikawa demanded more from iwaizumi than he from oikawa.

iwaizumi’s never cared. no one will ever be able to understand the complicated inner workings of their relationship, of the hundreds of thousands moments and words and actions that make up the absolute, unshakeable stability that is the foundation of their relationship - and moreover, won’t ever understand that iwaizumi is, when it comes to oikawa, so fucking _selfish_.

he’d been selfish when oikawa had asked for comfort the day before his flight to ministro pistarani international and iwaizumi had held him close to his chest and reveled in the way oikawa needed him so blatantly. he’s selfish in the way he insists on late-night calls instead of early-morning calls so he gets to see oikawa sleepy and hazy-eyed over the camera screen. he’s selfish when he knows he can’t ever really settle things with oikawa officially, but he still meets oikawa’s gaze with a smirk when he sees him staring for too long and still relentlessly questions about the girls and boys oikawa hangs out with until oikawa laughs, “aww, is iwa-chan jealous over me?”

but for all the indulgences iwaizumi has afforded himself in this relationship, oikawa’s success will not be one of them. he knows this for sure, and when oikawa crawls next to him in bed, eyes painfully expectant, he turns away.

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


the morning after finds them halfway across the torrey pines hike, clouds filtering the sunlight onto them in a hazy, white glow. iwaizumi is genuinely unsure if oikawa’s shorts shrunk in the wash or if he packed them specifically so iwaizumi would trip all over himself watching him. he wouldn’t put it past oikawa.

“this would be fun with a dog,” oikawa comments idly. the wildflowers have just finished blooming, and he’s glad oikawa came just in time to see them before they’re gone. there’s a nearby vendor with water bottles, and they make their way over to it.

“i’ve always wanted a dog,” iwaizumi muses. 

“like, a big one? i like big ones.”

“yeah, like a german sheppard.”

“but i want a labrador.”

“well, i want a german sheppard.”

“we can’t get them both,” oikawa protests, a hand on his hip. iwaizumi grabs two bottles and places them in front of the vendor, pulling out his wallet.

“i mean, we _could_.”

“no, we’re not having two dogs at our house.”

the vendor watches them with vague bemusement. the idea of them having a house together should probably feel - weird, but it’s easily the most naturally unfolding of events iwaizumi can imagine. 

iwaizumi slides money across the counter, frowning at oikawa. “give me one good reason why.”

“because one, you’re already like a dog, so it’d be like having three.” iwaizumi makes a noise of indignation as he drinks water. “two,” oikawa continues, “you’d pay attention to them too much! i’d die from the lack of attention. would you really do that to me, iwa-chan?”

“yes,” iwaizumi answers with no hesitation. “you brat.”

oikawa’s fake pout slides into a smirk as he tilts his head up in that vaguely arrogant way of his. “and?”

iwaizumi scowls. “and what?”

“and what are you gonna do about it?” 

iwaizumi blinks, jaw slacking. “what am i…?”

“you gonna put me in my place, iwa-chan?” oikawa murmurs, stepping closer. 

iwaizumi can see his death upcoming in the next twenty seconds. iwaizumi hajime: cause of death: flirting with his best friend. for all that he used to talk shit about oikawa’s charm, he’s easily the weakest to it.

at iwaizumi’s mortified silence, oikawa grins and takes a sip of his water. he tries to be subtle about ogling the taut lines of his neck, and judging by the way oikawa’s smile turns sly, he fails horribly. they’re so bad at this.

iwaizumi’s phone dings with a text message. oikawa, who’s just finished pouring half of his water bottle on his head, looks over expectantly. he looks like a wet puppy, with his floppy brown hair and tilted head. 

iwaizumi grimaces at his phone. “there’s this thing tonight - it’s called the spring splash,” he says. “i completely forgot. javier and jun wanna go tonight.”

“what is it?”

oikawa’s going to want to go, he already knows it. “it’s a concert, pretty much. i only know a few of the headlining artists.” he pulls up the lineup and shows it to oikawa, who just shrugs.

“do we need tickets?” iwaizumi shakes his head. “we might as well go, then. it’ll be fun!”

“it just smells like sweat and weed,” iwaizumi protests. 

“you pretty much smell like sweat and weed,” oikawa replies idly, stuffing the water bottles into iwaizumi’s backpack. 

iwaizumi sniffs his shirt. “do i actually?”

“you himbo, i was kidding.” he sniffs iwaizumi’s neck like that’s a completely socially acceptable thing to do in public. “but you do smell like sweat. when does the party start?”

“7, but the good artists don’t show up until 9, and even then, it’s really underwhelming.” he sideyes oikawa. “do you _really_ want to go? it really isn’t all that.”

“if jun and javier are going, why not?” he perks up. “is grace coming? i love her.”

“as if you weren’t psychotically stalking her instagram a few months ago,” iwaizumi mutters. “but yeah, she’ll probably come. with brownies,” he adds.

oikawa pumps his fist, then abruptly runs off towards the car. “loser drives home!” he yells, as if iwaizumi’s legs weren’t half the length of his and oikawa could actually drive in california.

iwaizumi rolls his eyes and runs after him. he’s never backed down from a challenge, especially not one from oikawa.

  
  
  
  
  


“i told you it wouldn’t be that good,” iwaizumi says. just as he predicted, it was underwhelming and smelled like sweat and weed. on top of that, they’re all still sober.

oikawa pinches him. “don’t bring out the i-told-you-so,” he groans.

“it wasn’t, like, completely bad,” javier protests. “carti’s wasn’t so bad.”

“i literally thought he was speaking japanese,” oikawa deadpans. jun keels over in laughter. 

they crowd into jun’s car with jun and javier in the front. iwaizumi’s phone dings with a text message. “grace and via are waiting by in-n-out,” he informs everyone in the car. 

“oh, perfect, we can get something to eat.” jun grins at tooru from the rear view mirror. “tooru, have you had in-n-out before?”

oikawa shakes his head. “no, iwa-chan never took me,” he says, which is unnecessarily accusatory. “what is it?”

“the best burgers i’ve ever had,” javier sighs dreamily, then screeches when jun takes a sharp left. “what the fuck?”

“my bad,” jun says unapologetically. “anyway, their milkshakes are to die for.”

“and their fries. they have these animal fries, which have sauce on them and stuff. they’re good, whatever it is.” javier squints outside the window. “oh, i think i see them.”

iwaizumi pokes his head out the window and catches sight of the two girls sitting at the table outside. he cups his mouth and hollers, “hey!” 

“people are gonna think you’re catcalling them,” jun comments. iwaizumi cringes and pulls his body back into the car.

“himbo iwa-chan,” oikawa snickers. iwaizumi smacks him hard enough to be satisfying.

“don’t hit him, he’s got a point,” javier says. he and oikawa share a high-five without looking.

“what? no,” iwaizumi denies. the car parks and the girls wave them over as they climb out. “i’m not stupid.”

“you’re a little dumb,” jun offers. “not like _stupid,_ but you’re dense sometimes.”

“i’m not dense,” iwaizumi repeats and ignores oikawa’s disbelieving laugh. “this is stupid.”

“no one’s stupid,” grace says when they get closer. “what are we talking about?”

“hajime’s a himbo,” jun says, hugging via. 

“oh, totally,” she answers, then grins wide when she sees oikawa. “is that my favorite slut?” she yells, because her and oikawa are weird like that.

“my _wife,”_ oikawa cries melodramatically and hugs her tight. 

“hypocrite, you hated her four months ago,” iwaizumi calls.

“okay, that was on me,” grace laughs. she’d sat down next to iwaizumi in organic chemistry on their first day, introduced herself, got iwaizumi’s number, and proceeded to tell everyone she snagged the number of the hot foreign exchange student and if all went well, he’d be in her bed the next week. iwaizumi didn’t think to tell her he was gay until she’d invited him to her apartment. oikawa still gets pissy at the memory for literally no rational reason.

“no, that was iwa-chan’s himbo-ness,” oikawa replies flippantly. “if he used his brain, he would’ve seen that you liked him and could’ve let you down in the beginning nicely instead of stringing you along.”

“not a himbo,” iwaizumi argues to deaf ears.

“sure. anyway, we got you guys food,” she says, sitting back down. they crowd around the table and immediately dig into the burgers and animal fries, oikawa pressed tight between grace and via.

“your skirt is so cute, oh my god,” oikawa gushes to via in spanish.

it’s funny how fate works; the roommates were decided randomly, but iwaizumi somehow ended up with roommates who could respectively speak the two languages oikawa was completely fluent in. their lives are so easily intertwined, even when thousands of miles away from each other, like their respective universes were hands meant to fit around each other’s fingers.

“why, you wanna buy it for yourself?” via answers with a smirk, and giggles when iwaizumi chokes. “ha, i’m kidding. not really. i’ll send you the link.”

“breathe, dude,” jun tells iwaizumi unconcernedly. 

“wow, if only i thought of that,” iwaizumi says dryly. he nudges grace. “can i have a sip?” he asks, nodding at her milkshake. 

“wow, so respectful to women. it’s like you’re a himbo,” grace says as she hands him the drink.

“i literally asked you for permission to drink your shake?” 

“so respectful,” via sighs. “tooru, you need to tell me how the hell you got an absolute beefcake and a himbo in one.”

oikawa presses his forehead to the table in laughter, turning to meet iwaizumi’s eyes, shining bright and happy under the parking lot streetlights. iwaizumi hides his stupid smile behind the shake.

  
  
  
  
  


oikawa makes quick friends with via near immediately, and her and grace argue over who gets to lapsit him, even though he’s a good 11 inches taller and 50 pounds heavier than both of them.

grace’s brownies are the best in irvine, and oikawa’s giggly and sleepy after one and a few bites of via’s. “hi,” he whispers to iwaizumi, smiling wide and not at all quiet. he shuffles closer from where they’re lying on the floor of grace’s bedroom, and iwaizumi lets it happen because he doesn’t have nearly enough self control to do anything but. the led lights around them lighten from a dark blue to a cyan that reminds iwaizumi of their seijoh uniforms.

“hi,” iwaizumi whispers back. “how many brownies did you have?”

“one. and a half,” oikawa adds after a moment. “and javier has a blunt.”

“huh, really?” iwaizumi sits up and looks around the room, where the blunt’s being passed to grace. “hey, i want some.”

“have a brownie.”

“no, they’re too sweet.”

“no, they’re fine. you’re just weird and think grapes and cheese are dessert,” jun says, then high-fives oikawa.

grace passes him the blunt. “they have a point.”

“big words for someone who thought they were in love with me a week after we met,” iwaizumi retorts as he takes a hit. grace kicks him and he coughs it out.

“literally all you had to say was _i’m gay_ and tooru wouldn’t have flipped out, thinking i was stealing his man or something.”

“i didn’t flip out,” oikawa protests sleepily. grace takes a hit, then passes it back to iwaizumi.

“totally flipped out,” iwaizumi argues.

“did not.”

“did too.”

“go do your foreplay somewhere else,” via snaps from where she’d been sleeping on the bed. 

iwaizumi presses the tip to his lips and inhales the smoke deep, and blows it out in a scoff. oikawa sits up nearby and leans towards him with a smirk, face clouded through the smoke. “yeah, iwa-chan, that’s some shitty foreplay,” he purrs. he rolls his head back, and iwaizumi trails indulgent eyes up the lines of his neck. “you have to butter me up.”

he glares at him, deadpan. “i’ll pass.”

oikawa’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t say anything else. iwaizumi watches as he plucks the blunt from between iwaizumi’s fingers and brings it to his own lips. he shuffles closer to iwaizumi until he can swing a leg on either side of iwaizumi’s hips and press a hand onto his collarbone.

iwaizumi makes an unintentional noise, resting a hand on either of his hips. oikawa presses slim fingers to his neck and presses their faces close, and his jaw goes slack in reverie.

oikawa presses their mouths close enough to graze, and iwaizumi’s hands tighten on his hips enough to bruise. his tongue curls against his lips as he blows out, and iwaizumi obediently inhales until his lungs burn. smoke pours out between them, but oikawa doesn’t pull away. 

a violent shiver goes down iwaizumi’s spine. it’s never been like this; with oikawa in his lap and sweaty hands pressed to his jaw. his mouth tastes like strawberry from oikawa’s milkshake, and he licks his lips unthinkingly. 

oikawa’s gaze is half-lidded and dilated when iwaizumi pulls back to meet his eyes, and it’s not because of the weed. 

“okay, that’s not a good idea,” jun says loudly, and grapples at oikawa’s shoulders. he flops out of iwaizumi’s lap with a wheeze. “that was hot but you’re just torturing yourself at this point, hajime.”

jun is right, iwaizumi _knows_ he is, but the sudden desperation for oikawa’s weight in his lap and fingers at his jaw is entirely consuming. he blinks away the haze in his mind.

“right,” he croaks. “fuck.”

“yeah, fuck,” jun repeats. he wrangles oikawa onto the bed like the good, responsibly sober friend he is. grace rubs her eyes and stands up to help him. 

“shit,” iwaizumi says. he’s not even high, but it feels like it. oikawa’s falling asleep onto jun’s shoulder after that sudden burst of energy, and slumps into grace’s pillows.

“yeah, shit,” grace echoes. “tooru’s out, so you can just sleep here with him.”

“what?” iwaizumi jerks up, protesting. “no, you need to sleep -“

“i’ll just go sleep with via,” grace replies simply. she tucks the blankets up to oikawa’s shoulders then turns to iwaizumi. “you’re the only one who could carry tooru to the car, and you’re tired as fuck anyway.”

“i’m sober,” iwaizumi argues, which is true. he’d barely taken a hit when oikawa had jumped him, compared to oikawa’s one and a half pot brownies. he’s left with the very clear memory of oikawa’s eyes shuttering closed, the taste of strawberry milkshake in his mouth. this is so, so bad on so many levels, but iwaizumi’s near vibrating with need.

grace squeezes his shoulder. “let it be. this room smells like weed, anyway, i don’t wanna sleep here.” she brushes an affectionate hand through his hair. 

“i know you two have your reasons for - your situation, but… “ she shrugs. “i don’t know, hajime. you’re both stubborn as hell and love each other a fuckton. maybe this could be something.”

iwaizumi’s head is spinning, with the smell of weed and the ghost of oikawa’s hips in his hands and grace’s words bouncing around in his head like a computer screensaver, never really clicking. he sighs and lays down next to oikawa.

“we’ll see,” is all he can say. the rest take their leave quietly, leaving him and an asleep oikawa alone in the now dark room.

iwaizumi stares at the ceiling angrily for a minute, and then rolls over with a sigh. oikawa shuffles back until his back is lined up perfectly against iwaizumi’s chest, and he presses his nose into the crook of his neck and closes his eyes. 

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


when iwaizumi had visited oikawa’s colorful, cluttered apartment in argentina for the first time, he’d seen it for what it was, maybe before oikawa did - something more permanent, more serious than iwaizumi’s uci dorm. this wasn’t going to be as temporary as either of them thought, and iwaizumi knows the argentinan national team will welcome oikawa with open arms.

argentina has done oikawa well when japan didn’t; it soothed oikawa’s rough, bruised edges into something softer, refined him like a pearl cradled between the andes and the eastern coastline of south america. for oikawa to truly, really grow into himself, he’d needed _space._ space from miyagi, from the scouts in japan who hadn’t looked twice at him, and most of all, from iwaizumi.

anyone would look at them and tell them to just cut the tension already; but iwaizumi knows that when (when, not if) oikawa makes it to the world stage, soars to heights unreachable by none but the very best, iwaizumi can’t be the one to pin him down. he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he’d been the one obstacle to oikawa’s highest success. oikawa isn’t made for quiet life in japan iwaizumi’s always thought they’d lead together.

iwaizumi won’t be the one to pin him down. he’d rather cut his right hand off before ever devoting himself to someone else - how could he? - but he won’t be the thing that oikawa looks back on and thinks _who knows where i could’ve gone, if it wasn’t for this._

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


the clock ticks away the time oikawa spends in irvine. five days have gone and the alarm oikawa sets for the day-after-tomorrow labeled _back to argentina !!_ makes iwaizumi’s throat tighten.

on day six, iwaizumi says, “let’s stay in today.”

oikawa tilts his head. “okay,” he answers slowly. “are you feeling well?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” iwaizumi assures. there’s something jittery and unsettling crawling in his chest and spreading throughout his nervous system. “i just - want to stay in. you down?”

“mhm,” oikawa hums, already moving past the subject. “what’s for lunch?”

“we could order in. or i could cook,” iwaizumi adds thoughtfully.

oikawa coos. “such a good housewife, iwa-chan!”

“don’t go any farther down that line of thought,” he warns.

oikawa grins, tucking his knees to his chest. iwaizumi’s 99% sure that’s his own shirt, but it’s cute enough on oikawa that he doesn’t bother calling him out. “give me something else to think about.”

“think about shutting your mouth,” is iwaizumi’s automatic reply. “or what i should make.” he plugs his phone into the kitchen speaker, and oikawa immediately makes grabby hands for it.

“hmm, something light, maybe,” oikawa suggests, scrolling through his spotify. “iwa-chan, you’re totally obsessed with this frank ocean guy.”

“he’s hot,” iwaizumi deadpans. “not to sound like a white californian, but grilled chicken and salad?”

“mkay, sounds good.” iwaizumi wraps an apron around his waist, then pulls the cutting board out and gets to work on chopping. oikawa’s phone rings, and he grins when he picks it up, chattering in spanish. he turns the camera to iwaizumi, and iwaizumi greets diego with a wave and some small talk. the reminder of how tightly their lives are intertwined settles the discomfort that’d settled in with the knowledge of oikawa’s upcoming flight.

it’s pretty noisy, between the rhythmic chop of the vegetables, oikawa’s tittering, and the music, but iwaizumi would live in this moment forever, if he could; wishes he could trap them both in this tiny, sunlit kitchen forever, where they’re barely a few feet from each other rather than on different continents. 

_show me the wisdom of your movements,_ frank ocean croons. oikawa’s gaze is a brand on his neck, and iwaizumi looks up to acknowledge it.

to his credit, he doesn’t blush red when he meets oikawa’s eyes. “hi,” oikawa says quietly, something restrained and all too familiar to iwaizumi tugging at the corner of his lips.

iwaizumi smiles, because it feels right, and delights in the way oikawa visibly softens. “hey,” he says right back, because they’ve always met each other halfway.

he mixes the veggies in the bowl together, then lays out the chicken to let it cook. he has to flip it in five minutes, but he has better things to focus on, like how oikawa’s curled up in the kitchen chair, iwaizumi’s shirt falling loose around his shoulders. 

iwaizumi unwraps the apron and moves towards him, reveling in the way oikawa’s eyes never leave him. something tense but not uncomfortable is settling in the air around them, making its home in iwaizumi’s airways.

oikawa tilts his head up to appraise iwaizumi. “does it make you feel better, being taller for once?” he teases, voice still soft.

“shittykawa,” iwaizumi replies, out of lack for a better comeback. he rests his hand against the curve of oikawa’s face, thumb against his cheekbone. oikawa leans into the touch, smiling faintly. he doesn’t say anything else, letting iwaizumi take his fill of the sight.

he’s the loveliest thing iwaizumi’s ever seen. oikawa closes his eyes, inhales, then opens them again. his smile doesn’t fall, per se, but it takes a back burner to a more tense set of his mouth. 

oikawa licks his lips, and meets iwaizumi’s eyes. “are you going to kiss me, iwa-chan?”

iwaizumi can feel his heartbeat in his wrist where it’s pressed against oikawa’s carotid artery. they’re both hummingbird-wing fast, speeding up in anticipation and exciting indecision. 

“no, i’m not,” he says decisively, and pulls away to turn off the stove.

oikawa’s eyes slowly open from where they’d been near-lidded, wide in confusion, and then frustration. “what?”

iwaizumi’s heart hurts from how hard it’s protesting in his ribcage - _don’t let this go don’t let him go._ “tooru-“

“what the fuck?” oikawa says, jolting backwards. the easy, pleasant mood of the afternoon abruptly dissipates, lost to the space between their tense bodies. “what- why? why?”

“why what?” 

“why won’t you kiss me?” he asks, loud and angry and hurt. his jaw is clenched tight, hands fisted around the edge of the chair. everything about him is suddenly closed off in a way it rarely never is with iwaizumi and screams _don’t come near me_ when that’s all iwaizumi ever wants to do. 

“don’t be stupid,” iwaizumi hisses. this is his pain as much as oikawa’s. “i can’t just kiss you once and walk away, tooru.”

“you don’t have to walk away!” oikawa yells, standing up fully. 

“if i kissed you right now, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself!”

“i wouldn’t _want_ you to stop-“

“fucking hell, tooru, i’d have to do everything with you, to you - i can’t settle for less, not when it comes to you.”

“then do it, what’s stopping you? nothing!” he fists a hand in his hair, frustrated. “nothing’s stopping you! do whatever you want to me, fuck, i _want_ you to.”

“and then what? you leave the day after tomorrow and we go back to calls twice a day and and seeing you a few times a year?” because iwaizumi is _selfish,_ above all, and he can’t have this one week with oikawa if he can’t have the rest. “i can’t fucking do that, tooru!”

“yes, you could!” oikawa yells back, in his face. he clutches at the neckline of iwaizumi’s shirt. “you’ve done it all this time, how is this any different? we’re practically dating now, aren’t we? what would change?”

“tooru, you’re headed for _nationals._ use your fucking brain for once! you’re incredible! you’re amazing!” he yells, and oikawa’s face blushes a deep, embarrassed red underneath the flushed anger on his face. he fists his hands on either side of his body. “you’re gonna play in the olympics for argentina, and i’m going back to japan. and then what? we do this for the rest of our lives? sex over skype and goodnight calls? could you really live with that, tooru?”

“if it was you, i could,” oikawa says, suddenly gentle, juxtaposed to the way his hands are still clutched desperately tight in iwaizumi’s shirt. “i’d wait for you my whole fucking life if i had to, iwa-chan.”

“you shouldn’t have to,” iwaizumi replies, closing his eyes. this is oikawa screaming his love, his unwavering devotion to him, and this is iwaizumi pressing hands to his ears. this hurts him just as much as oikawa. “i don’t want you to be sitting around, waiting for a call from me at 2 am instead of with someone easier.”

“i don’t want easier,” oikawa says, the calmness from earlier leaking out and pooling in his waterline, and pouring over in salty, warm streaks down his cheeks.

“iwa-chan, you stupid himbo, i want _you,”_ he says, voice wet. “i want everything with you, i don’t care if it’s easy or not. i’ve made my decision. you’re it for me.”

“shit, tooru,” he hisses, pressing the heels of his hands into his burning eyes. 

“you’re it for me,” oikawa repeats, tears hot when iwaizumi wipes them away. “i don’t care if i’m waiting for you until we’re 70. _i don’t care,_ iwa-chan.”

“i’m not going to be the one to pin you down,” iwaizumi says, mouth ticked up in a bitter smile. “i want you to go places, tooru. i want you to go to the olympics and win gold and not worry about your boyfriend on the other side of the world. i’m not going to be the one to pin you down.”

“you stupid himbo,” oikawa says, near hysterical, ignoring iwaizumi when he yells _i’m not a himbo_ and pulls iwaizumi against him until their bodies are flush from chest to toe. iwaizumi shifts closer until oikawa is pressed between the edge of the dinner table and his own body, meeting his gaze.

oikawa’s always been an ugly crier, but he’s everything iwaizumi could ever ask for. his eyes are shiny with tears both shed and unshed, and he kind of looks like a hysterical mess and iwaizumi wonders who he must’ve been in a past life to get to see oikawa like this, with his heart bared out for iwaizumi and iwaizumi only. 

it’s only because iwaizumi’s maintaining such intense eye contact that he can see the exact moment oikawa’s gaze hardens in determination. oikawa’s hand loosens around his shirt and trails up to his jaw, reverent in its journey.

“i need someone to pin me down,” he says, fingers gentle and sweaty against iwaizumi’s skin. “i don’t need someone to lift me up or take me higher, i can do that myself.”

“i just love when you’re modest,” he says drily, voice too shaky to really mean it.

oikawa ignores him and barrels on, voice too loud for the scant space between them. “i _need_ someone to pin me down, iwa-chan. you - you know how to bring me down when i get too caught up in my head, or when i need to take a step back and relax.”

oikawa inhales, shaky and vulnerable. iwaizumi’s hand is slack on his waist, raptured by the way his lip trembles and the way his hands feel on iwaizumi’s jaw. he’s breathless with something, who knows - the anticipation, the thousands of words sitting under his tongue just waiting to be whispered into the safe space of oikawa’s mouth.

“you’re perfect for me,” he continues, jaw set. “we’re perfect for each other. it has to be you. i need you to pin me down, iwa-chan. i trust you. you trust me, don’t you?” iwaizumi nods, hands trembling. “then trust me on this. we’ll figure this out, i know we will.”

it’s everything iwaizumi already knows, but it sounds infinitely better in oikawa’s voice. they’re teetering on the edge of the rubicon, and iwaizumi knows he’s going to fall, no matter what he does or says. it’s a foregone conclusion: iwaizumi’s been wrapped around his finger since they were three, and the idea that he he isn’t already oikawa’s is laughable enough a smile twitches on his mouth.

he wants to say something profound and beautiful, something like _i dream about you more nights than not_ or _i’d cut my right arm off to call you mine._ what comes out is “you’re such a bottom.” 

oikawa blinks, once, twice, and then his jaw drops, expression melting from sweet and nervous to irritation. “are you kidding me,” he hisses, but his mouth mirrors iwaizumi’s, a smile at the corners of it. “you were the one that kept talking about pinning me down! i take it all back,” he laughs.

“too late,” iwaizumi says, grin too wide to hold back. he wraps arms around his waist, elated by the way their bodies fit together so easily, by the sweaty weight of oikawa in his arms. he must be a masochist to have denied himself of this for so long. “you’re mine. you can’t take it back after that speech.”

“my speech that you didn’t _respond to,”_ oikawa retorts, but his eyes are bright and fond and iwaizumi knows he knows.

he probably wants to hear it anyway, and for all that iwaizumi talks shit, he’s never once _not_ given oikawa something he’s really wanted - except once, on the court with a victorious karasuno on the other side. but maybe it’s time to move past that, he thinks. if oikawa says he needs him, it’s enough for iwaizumi, now.

he presses their foreheads together and revels in oikawa’s breathless laugh and says, “i’m stupid in love with you, tooru. it’s always been you.”

oikawa wraps arms around his neck and tilts his head up. “i know.” this is the little bitch iwaizumi’s devoted his entire life to. 

“are you going to kiss me now, iwa-chan?” he asks, a direct echo to the question that’d completely destroyed their careful, tentative house of tiptoeing around words they couldn’t say and tension they couldn’t address.

iwaizumi wants to retort something smart, draw it out longer, but at this point, he’s just torturing himself too. he lets his eyes shut to the sight of oikawa’s happy eyes and golden smile and finally, finally kisses him.

it’s everything iwaizumi’s dreamt about; it’s nothing like his dreams at all. oikawa lets out a barely-there sigh, pressing back against iwaizumi’s mouth with the same desperate intent, wrapping tight around iwaizumi’s shoulders. it feels like years pass; it’s not long enough at all.

iwaizumi moves back to give them some air, but oikawa immediately follows him and press their mouths together feverishly. oikawa kisses at his top lip, then his bottom, and iwaizumi presses his fingers against his jaw until their mouths slot back together in a slick, warm, press.

“iwa-chan,” he gasps, pulling away. iwaizumi scrapes his teeth against his bottom lip as he goes, and smirks at the shudder he can feel that wracks oikawa’s spine.

“shit,” iwaizumi whispers. he smooths a finger over his cheekbone where his blush rides high, and then presses at his slick, pink bottom lip until the skin pales. 

of course they’d end up here. they’ve never said a sentence that the other didn’t know the end to, never lived or envisioned a life that the other wasn’t so tightly intertwined in. in every reality, they’d end up here somehow. 

“i’m so in love with you,” iwaizumi repeats, because he can.

“i love you too, iwa-chan,” he whispers, grinning wide. iwaizumi’s so lucky to be able to have him like this, kiss-flushed and golden from the stray sunlight that always finds a way to shine on him, like it’s just as addicted to this supernova of a boy as much as iwaizumi is.

iwaizumi leans back in. “say my name,” he whispers against the inside of his mouth.

oikawa doesn’t miss a beat. “hajime, i love you,” he murmurs, and iwaizumi knows he’s absolutely ruined for anybody else. no one ever stood a chance, not when it came to oikawa tooru. of course it’s oikawa. of course.

“i’m so stupid,” iwaizumi groans when he pulls back. “we could’ve been doing this so long ago.”

“it’s because of that weird martyr complex you have when it comes to me. i’ve been trying to tell you you’re a himbo. you shouldn’t be thinking too much, iwa-chan,” oikawa says, and whines when iwaizumi pinches his waist. 

“asshole.”

“yours,” oikawa purrs, and iwaizumi grins. oikawa’s kiss flushed down to his collarbones in iwaizumi’s shirt and eyes puffy from their crying, and this is going to be so, so worth it. 

“mhm,” iwaizumi hums, kissing at his bottom lip to taste the smile. “mine.”

  
  
  
  
  


four hours later, after ruining iwaizumi’s sheets and oikawa’s ability to sit down properly, iwaizumi’s phone dings with a text message. he grunts, too lazy to move

from oikawa’s chest. 

“you’re like a puppy,” oikawa mutters to himself, rubbing a hand through iwaizumi’s hair. he’s half-asleep and exhausted because oikawa is, unsurprisingly, a pillow princess. 

it goes off again, and oikawa grabs his phone. “oh, it’s jun.”

“fuck does he want,” iwaizumi mumbles into the bruised skin of oikawa’s collarbone. 

“so vulgar, iwa-chan.” he opens the message and cackles, then shows it to iwaizumi. 

**jun:** so is it safe to come back to the dorm now 

**jun:** or r u guys still fucking

and then, in the groupchat:

**jun:** why r tooru n hajime yelling at each other ??? did sum happen

 **javier:** they fuckin

 **jun:** I LEFT MY GOV BOOK IN THERE ??

 **javier:** sounds like a u problem lol

 **javier:** anyway whos topping

iwaizumi turns his phone off after that. oikawa shakes with laughter under him. “you’re not gonna text back?”

“his fault for forgetting his book,” he grumbles. oikawa resumes his petting, rubbing his hands down iwaizumi’s head and resting at his nape. oikawa hitches his legs back up around iwaizumi’s waist with a comfortable sigh.

iwaizumi kisses his jaw once, twice, then flops back down. “literally a puppy,” oikawa giggles. iwaizumi turns his head to look at oikawa properly. it’s an awful angle, and his hair is beyond help and his face is flushed red, and he’s everything iwaizumi could ever ask for.

“do you think this will work?” he asks, vulnerable in a way that’s hard to be with anyone but oikawa. “this isn’t going to be easy, tooru.”

“i’ll make it work,” oikawa promises, voice determined. iwaizumi pushes onto his elbows to brace himself over oikawa, wanting to meet his gaze properly. “i want this really bad, iwa-chan. you have no idea.”

“no, i think i do,” he says. he presses his lips to oikawa’s forehead, then down to his eyelids. oikawa blinks up at him. “we’re gonna make this work. this’ll be worth it.”

“we will.” oikawa cups his cheek, then grins. “so how about a round three?”

iwaizumi rolls them over and lets oikawa straddle him into the sheets, muffling the sound of oikawa’s laughter against his own grin.

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


it’s the hardest thing iwaizumi’s ever done, but fuck if it isn’t worth it. seven years after oikawa told him _it has to be you,_ oikawa wins argentina a gold medal in the olympics after ending the match with a flawless setter dump. iwaizumi watches from the staff bench and has never been more in love. 

the night after, oikawa kneels on the floor of iwaizumi’s childhood bedroom in nothing but iwaizumi’s sweaty team japan polo, pulls out a velvet box identical to the one buried in iwaizumi’s windbreaker and says _you’re my home, and i’ve only ever gotten this far knowing i have you to come back to. iwaizumi hajime, will you marry me?_

iwaizumi kisses him so thoroughly he’s red from lack of air when they finally pull apart, eyes shiny and bright. “holy shit, i love you,” he whispers against oikawa’s lips, kiss salty from the tears and sweat. 

oikawa beams, face tear-stained and red and so, so painfully gorgeous. “i love you too, iwa-chan.” he presses their foreheads together. “thank you for being my home.”

yeah, it’s worth it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading <3 i hope u enjoyed! i had to deactivate my tumblr a while back; i [reactivated it](https://altarrias.tumblr.com/), but i prolly wont be using it much. catch me at my [twitter](https://twitter.com/altarrias) instead if u'd like! 
> 
> i’d love if u left kudos or a comment <33  
> stay safe, stay healthy, and have a lovely day !!


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